


Phone Sex and Peppermints

by Smirkdoctor (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, festive underpants, greg is a sex god, holiday party and afterparty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 14:42:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13169094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Smirkdoctor
Summary: Follow the adventures of our favorite forensic pathologist and detective inspector as they navigate a new relationship during the holiday season.





	Phone Sex and Peppermints

**Author's Note:**

> These were originally published as discrete ficlets for the December challenge; sorry if the flow isn't the best.

Molly Hooper had a small vial of peppermint oil in her top right desk drawer for cases  _ exactly _ like this one. 

The body delivered just five minutes ago, fished from the Thames and having been in the river for a good month, judging by the state of it, was already permeating the entire morgue with a horrible, putrid smell. And Molly had been tipped off by the courier that she needed to complete an autopsy soon, because  _ Sherlock Holmes _ thought the stomach contents of this gentleman held the key to a string of serial murders.

There was nothing else for it. Molly retrieved the oil, removed the screw cap, and tipped a bit onto her right index finger. As she stepped back into the dissection area, she swiped a shiny path of peppermint beneath each of her nostrils and, without thinking, adjusted her small gold necklace to sit correctly so it wouldn’t distract her from her work.

Sighing, she snapped on a pair of size small nitriles, settled her goggles on her wrinkled nose, and picked up her scalpel for the Y-incision.

 

*~*~*

 

Greg Lestrade entered the Barts’ morgue and fell immediately into a coughing fit. 

He pulled the lapel of his peacoat over his face and concentrated on pulling oxygen from the thick, putrid air. His head became less cloudy after a couple measured breaths, but he had to blink several times to clear the tears from his vision.

“Christ, Molly, I’m sorry.” A brunette head snapped up at his voice, her deep concentration broken. She smiled and Greg felt a small bit of warmth settle beneath his sternum. 

He shook his head and focused back on the task at hand, at the rather spectacularly  _ open _ sternum of the body on the slab.

While he floundered, Molly had removed her gloves and goggles, and was completing a rather elaborate hand-washing ritual at the large steel-basin sink near the door.

“If I’d known how bad the smell was gonna be…” he grasped at an apology and pinked at the ears as Molly shook her head and led him, hand on bicep, through the door to her office.

“You’d have what? Stopped me from performing my duty? It’s my  _ job _ , Gregory Lestrade!” She released him at the doorway, then closed the door behind them, blessedly cutting off the scent.

“It’s the strangest thing...” she began as she grabbed her tablet off the desk, then used her fingertip to tap into a window and efficiently. “Yes! I  _ knew _ I’d seen this before!”

“What?” Greg stepped up to look over her shoulder and inhaled sharply. 

What  _ was _ that? Shampoo and woman and musk and...was that  _ peppermint _ ? 

Whatever the mixture, it would have been delicious on any day, and the contrast with the recent assault on his senses only served to draw him closer. He leaned forward and ran the tip of his nose along Molly’s nape, inhaling deeply.

“Greg?” Molly sounded as if  _ she _ were now struggling for air.

“Mmmmmm?” An interrogative murmur breached his parted lips just before he pressed them against her skin.

 

*~*~*

 

Molly shivered in spite of the warm toastiness of a wool-clad detective inspector behind her. The touch of gentle lips on her neck had her drawing a deep breath and turning to position her lips on his in response.

How had she never  _ seen _ Greg? The attractive silver-haired man had been on the periphery of her life for  _ five years _ now, and she’d never even considered that it might feel this  _ right _ to rest in his arms.

Sherlock had been such a distraction. 

But as Greg moaned quietly and Molly opened her mouth and arched her body to welcome his exploration, she decided she had had  _ quite enough _ distraction. 

And not nearly enough peppermint yet this holiday season.

 

*~*~*~*

 

_ I really should have kept quiet.  _ Molly thought as she struggled to keep up with Martha Hudson.

The woman was something to behold when she was on a mission, and since Molly let slip that she would be DI Lestrade’s date to the annual NSY holiday ball, Martha had taken it upon herself to find Molly the absolute sexiest outfit possible.

So here they were in the ladies’ section of Marks and Spencer, and here they had been for--Molly surreptitiously glanced at her watch--  _ four _ hours, Rosie Watson in tow, her buggy’s handle serving double duty as a clothing rack for a sparkly black dress and silver shrug. 

Molly blew a stray piece of fringe out of her eyes as she leaned over to check on Rosie, who was (blessedly) sleeping, the remnants of a candy cane all over her front. 

Molly smiled at the sweet girl, and at the success of the shopping trip. She  _ had _ looked great in that dress. And the end was in sight: they were down to shoes.

Molly straightened to standing, squared her shoulders, and put on a burst of speed as Martha disappeared around a corner fifty feet in front of her. She even hummed a happy little holiday tune as she approached the corner and turned…

into the lingerie department.

“ _ Martha! _ ” she hissed. “ _ Absolutely _ not!”

The older woman feigned innocence as she strolled toward a display of fur-lined brassieres.

“My  _ intimates _ are perfectly adequate! And...and including them in today’s shopping is  _ horribly _ presumptuous…” 

Molly’s words trailed off as her eyes caught a bra and panty set patterned in swirling red and white peppermint stripes. From a small red bow between the cups dangled a silver candy cane. And as she looked closer, she could see a corresponding charm on each of the tiny strips of elastic making up the sides of the matching g-string.

“Oh, good choice!” Martha grinned as she grabbed a set off the rack. Molly ran her hand across the silky cups and felt her cheeks heating even as a small smile crossed her lips.

Peppermint just kept popping up in the oddest places.

“Molly, dear…” Martha’s voice was breathy with giggles as she elbowed Molly, pointing across the aisle to a rather well endowed male mannequin whose... _ package _ was on display in a red satin thong. “Have you given Greg a wish list yet?”

 

*~*~*~*

 

“Just breathe,” Greg whispered against Molly’s ear as he slipped an arm around her waist. “Everyone’s a friend here.”

While the statement was true, he knew that wouldn’t save the two of them from a good deal of friendly ribbing when they entered the hall together. 

This was the first time since his divorce-- hell, since two years  _ before _ his divorce-- that he had a date for the Yard’s annual holiday do. Greg sneaked a glance down at Molly’s outfit and gave himself a mental pat on the back.  _ Well done, mate.  _

If he was honest with himself, he’d had eyes for the pretty, young pathologist since that maniac Sherlock Holmes had brought them into each other’s orbit five years ago. 

But he’d been unhappily married then, and by the time he wasn’t, both he and the consulting detective had been humiliated in the media and Sherlock had jumped off a building, adding what felt like two decades to his life. And what would Molly have wanted with a grey-haired old man?

So he’d kept his desires in check, avoided wayward glances, and kept his interest in her well-being professional and appropriate. That is, until a wayward whiff of peppermint had left him literally nosing at her neck. He’d expected her turning to end with a smack directly to his face, and he’d been oh-so-pleasantly surprised when their lips connected.

Since then, over the course of two cups of coffee, one date for dinner and drinks, and countless texts, he had learned the rather astounding fact that Molly Hooper’s fascination with him nearly mirrored his with her. 

_ We’ve been such idiots _ he’d breathed against those lips the last time he walked her to her door.

_ Yeah.  _ She whispered back, looking up at him with soft eyes. And then he was cupping her beautiful face in his hands and  _ gazing _ at her.

_ Come to the ball with me? _

_ I wasn’t aware you were a fairy tale prince. _

Molly raised her left eyebrow and bit her lower lip coyly and Greg caught his breath as want hit him in the gut. He should to be the one nibbling at that lip, so he gathered her more closely and did just that, muttering between soft nips.

_ You know what I mean, Molls. _ He groaned as she nipped back and she giggled. _ I want to show you off. _

She lifted a hand and ran it over his fluffy pate.  _ My silver-haired caveman. Of course I’ll come. _

And here she stood, in a form-fitting black dress topped with a silver jacket, the outfit completed by frankly ridiculous red shoes. She looked like sex on heels. And she was on  _ his _ arm.

They walked through the doors and the chatter fell into an honest-to-God hush for several seconds until a wolf-whistle split the air. Greg snapped his head toward the source in time to see Sally Donovan removing two fingers from her beaming mouth. 

Greg tightened his grasp on Molly’s slim waist, planted a smooch on her blushing cheek, and made his way toward the homicide crowd, grinning like the cat who caught the canary.

Happy holidays indeed.

 

*~*~*

 

Molly could not remember how this got started. 

One minute, she’d been chatting with a group of Scotland Yard detectives, and the next, she found herself slammed against the mirrored back wall of the lift, ascending toward the room which Greg had, apparently, secured for tonight  _ just in case. _

There was something about...winter sports. Philip Anderson and Greg were talking about  _ hockey _ , of all things. But she and Sally Donovan had been having a fairly interesting conversation about figure skating. 

It turned out that they were both forced into lessons at age four but never made it past slow turns and backward skating. After a few minutes spent bemoaning weak ankles and bruised bums, they moved on to chatting about movies; specifically, the best ice skating movie ever made, a love story between a failed hockey player and a partner-less pairs figure skater.

“I don’t care if it’s cheesy and obviously earmarked as early 90’s. I will love it  _ forever _ !” Molly declared, gesturing with her glass of white wine, causing it to splash slightly over the side.

“You’ll love  _ what _ forever?” Greg was suddenly by her side, rescuing the glass from her passionate movements.

Molly blushed, embarrassed at having been caught out in the midst of some  _ very silly _ fangirling. She looked at Sally, who was suddenly mum on the subject. She sighed, defeated, and turned back to her date.

“It’s nothing. Just this silly American ice skating movie from the 1990’s…”

“What, you mean  _ The Cutting Edge _ ?”

Molly stared, agog, as Greg shrugged, “I love that film.”

And that was what pushed her into action. This  _ brilliant _ man needed to get some tonight. And  _ she _ needed to be the one giving it to him. 

She grasped the back of his head and pulled him down into a blazing kiss.

With a muffled grunt, Greg placed the glass on a nearby table and began walking her backward toward the ballroom’s exit.

The kiss remained hard and hot all the way to the fifth floor. Thankfully, their room for the evening was only two doors from the lift. 

Greg worked some brilliant police magic to open the old-fashioned keyed entry, and they stepped into the quiet darkness. 

Molly moved her hands from Greg’s waist to his wonderfully plump arse and squeezed. She sucked in a deep breath as he ground himself against her and snuck his fingers under the bottom seam of her body-hugging dress.

“I lied earlier.” He panted against her neck, pausing for a second in his quest to mark that wonderfully pale skin.

“What?” Molly struggled to resurface from her fog of lust. Alarm bells were trying to go off, but weren’t sufficient to gain her attention.

Greg licked along her collarbone and laughed softly. “I lied when I said hockey was my favorite winter sport.”

Molly could not, for the life of her, grasp why he was talking about this  _ now _ , and uttered a small, questioning noise of frustration.

“Yeah...” Greg slid down her cap sleeves and smiled brightly as he revealed her candy cane bra. “My _real_ favorite winter sport would have to be…” he paused to suck another love bite above her left breast… “ _sex_.”

 

*~*~*

 

Molly felt like she would melt into a shimmering pool of want if she didn’t experience the fullness, the pressure, of Greg inside her  _ right now. _

Their foreplay had been brief, consisting mostly of hands groping to find zippers, buckles, clasps, and seams. But they were both finally naked, stumbling over discarded shoes toward the bed. Molly reached down to circle his cock with her entire hand, stroking feather-light over the scorching flesh, and Greg groaned in approval.

“ _ God _ yes. That’s my clever girl.” She smiled and pulled her lips back to gauge the distance to the bed, then took advantage of his distraction to pivot their bodies and push him down onto the mattress. 

She stepped back to take in the delectable picture of  _ her  _ detective inspector, hair pulled a million different directions, pupils dilated, body flushed from his cheeks down to his proud erection. She licked her lips as she let her gaze linger on that most appetizing of parts. 

He looked delicious, edible, sexy...and he also looked upside down, his head resting at the foot of the bed. But Molly had little time to think about sex in  _ unorthodox _ configurations before he was pulling her down on top of him, aligning their bodies and thrusting lightly against her.

Five minutes and two quick bursts of oral sex later, Molly was in heaven as Greg finally slid between her legs and inside her body. They were on their knees, his body cradling her from behind and he rocked slowly, advancing and retreating within her.

And every clench of the powerful muscles of his thighs and buttocks, every micro-expression crossing his handsome face was on display just for her in the large mirror positioned in the wall across from the end of the bed.

Greg caught Molly’s eyes in the mirror, then dropped his gaze to the apex of her thighs. He flung one arm low around her waist and pressed his hand flat against her lower abdomen. 

“Oh _fuck_ yes,” he groaned, lifting his eyes to stare into her very soul. “I can feel me inside of you.” Molly’s felt her vision go a bit hazy then, and he moved his hand to apply a callused fingertip to her clitoris. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, and he moved to kiss and suckle at her jaw.

_ Mmmmmmmm _ Molly sounded like she was tasting the most rich, creamy chocolate dessert in her memory as she ground back onto Greg’s cock then forward into his hand. And suddenly, even though she didn’t particularly want it to be over, it was enough. 

She moaned, low and wanton, as her hips stuttered. She managed to repeat her grinding motion once...twice more, then she was coming, thrusting back so he filled her completely as the internal contractions overwhelmed her and her nipples tingled. 

She opened her eyes mid-orgasm and looked at Greg in time to see his lips go slack and his body jerk uncontrollably. She covered the arm on her abdomen with her left hand and brought her right up to caress his nape. 

When his body had finished its wild race to completion, he opened his eyes and regarded her with the sweetest expression, nearly disbelieving. He kissed her whisper-soft and maneuvered them gently onto the mattress, pulling out and stepping away to dispose of the condom.

Surveying the scene from the mess of the king-sized bed, sprawled on top of a decadent feather-stuffed duvet, Molly began to giggle. Greg harrumphed, affecting offense that she was disrupting their post-coital haze, and the silly expression in his face made her laugh even harder.

Greg growled and launched himself back onto the bed, landing with his weight on his hands to hover over Molly. But he was smiling as he leaned down to kiss her forehead. “What’s gotten into you?”

A fresh set of giggles burst forth and she leaned up kiss his left bicep before circling it with both hands and collapsing back, a saucy expression on her face. “You mean, besides  _ you _ ?” 

Greg groaned and flopped onto his back, draping a well-muscled arm across her torso and drawing soft designs onto her stomach. Her giggles faded and she kissed his temple, then nudged his head with her nose, directing his eyes toward the hotel room door.

Molly’s candy cane bra dangled from the doorknob along with his festive red tie, and her slinky black dress and topper were laid across the back of the couch. His suit jacket and white shirt were a crinkled mess just inside the door, his trousers—belt still in the loops— were draped over the television, and his own red-and-white striped boxer briefs were precariously hanging from the headboard of their love nest. 

He huffed out a laugh and turned to tuck his face into the warm, soft curve of Molly’s shoulder. “I guess we did a pretty good job of decorating.”

 

*~*~*~*

 

“Oh, for the love of God!” Molly Hooper turned to stare despairing out her window at the swirling snowflakes. She glanced back to the alert that had just graced the screen of her phone. Apparently the tube stations were closing down. The Underground  _ never _ closed, and it just happened to occur on the occasion of her first date with Greg Lestrade after the NSY holiday party?

Molly kicked a foot out in frustration, realizing too late that 1) she was not wearing shoes and 2) the leg of her kitchen table was hard and unmoving. 

“Oh, bollocks!” She grabbed her foot, hopped to the sofa, and collapsed. Toby sauntered over in his typical lazy, arrogant fashion, settling on the leg she had crossed over her opposite knee to continue massaging her foot...and meowed imperiously.

“Can I help you, sir?” He stared at her without blinking, then directed his attention toward cleaning his paw thoroughly. 

“Offended by my language?” He met her eyes again and blinked slowly, which Molly took as agreement. 

“Well, then, you can just bugger right off.” Toby jumped to the ground with a loud thump and an angry trill. 

He swaggered through the door to her bedroom (the room she and Greg should have retired to after their dinner and drinks) and Molly barely restrained herself from tossing a throw pillow after him. Instead, she sighed and collapsed lengthwise on the couch, throwing both arms over her face and groaning.

She was rescued from her wallowing by the vibration of her mobile from its place on her chest. She picked it up and saw a text notification from Greg. He was probably trying to arrange a raincheck.  _ Or a snowcheck _ she thought, chuckling without humour. She sighed and swiped the message open...

and lost her breath entirely. 

On the screen was probably the sexiest picture she had ever seen. Greg was shirtless, one of his hands spanning the space between peaked nipples. When she finally managed to draw her eyes up to his face, she gasped. Greg’s eyes were entirely dilated, and his stubble and sex hair were out in force.

As she was busy staring, her phone vibrated again:

_ You still up for our date? _

Molly smiled naughtily, sitting up just long enough to pull her blouse over her head. She then settled back against the pillows, making sure her hair was spread out and her arms were positioned to push her breasts just a bit out of the cups of her cherry-print bra. 

She bit her bottom lip and snapped a picture, quickly sending it off to Greg. Maybe a night stuck at home wouldn’t be so bad after all.


End file.
